


such ich dich hinter dem Licht

by moon_waves



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Dreams, Getting Back Together, M/M, Pining, Reise Reise Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22992148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_waves/pseuds/moon_waves
Summary: Schneider had never been the kind to pay much attention to his dreams - until they started forcing him to confront truths he had been rather eager to ignore.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christoph Schneider
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36





	such ich dich hinter dem Licht

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arrestzelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/gifts).



> B., I hope you'll enjoy this little surprise 💕❤️💜💙🖤

Flowers were blooming particularly late this year. Schneider looked at the spot where his bulbs were still buried deep within the earth, frowning. It had stopped snowing two weeks ago but the air was still chilly until well into the afternoon, and the ground was almost colder than ice to the touch.

He wasn’t sure his flowers would even manage to see the light of day, this spring.

Footsteps padded softly on the path behind him, dried branches creaking under the visitor’s feet but Schneider didn’t pay it any attention, too focused on the barren state of his garden. The cold expression on his face didn’t move an inch when he felt two muscled arms hold him and a firm torso rest against him, barely even registering the warmth on his skin.

“Roses won’t bloom this year,” a calm voice said to his ear and his frowned eased when he realized who it was, relaxing into the embrace.

“That’s a bit pessimist of you to say so,” he retorted, a small smile playing on his lips, before turning on his heels to look at his lover – and he felt the hold disappear with a pang of sadness.

Paul was imperturbable in front of him, hands in the pockets of his jeans, a white cotton shirt with half-sleeves hazardously tucked inside his pants, hair still mussed up as if he had just gotten out of bed, a red love mark standing proudly on his collarbone. A halo was softly glowing around him, light slightly distorted, and Schneider frowned at the sight, taking a step back.

It wasn’t Paul at all, and he felt cold sweat going down his spine when the visitor – creature? apparition? – looked at him, two golden globes floating in the empty caverns where the eyes had been.

“What the –” Schneider started saying, taking another step back before tripping on a root that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and falling on his back, body hitting the cold ground with a loud _thump_.

A thick coat of snow was covering everything in his garden – except that he couldn’t see his house anymore, couldn’t see the fences around his garden either, and trees he had never seen before were standing a few meters away, branches empty and softly moving despite the lack of wind.

“Roses won’t bloom this year,” the apparition repeated, the same imperturbable expression still present on his face.

The wind started to rise, snowflakes falling all over them, and Schneider felt his heart drop at the bottom of his stomach. Everything had gone silent all of a sudden, as if they were the only remaining people on Earth, and it terrified him more than he could express.

The apparition kept looking at him, golden orbs glowing more and more intensely, as if it was waiting for him to talk, but he didn’t know what to say, what was expected of him.

And what would be the punishment if he failed.

“What does that mean?” Schneider stammered, feeling like his mouth was full of cotton, the words barely coming out in a way that made sense.

“Roses won’t bloom this year,” the apparition said for the third time.

The golden globes were glowing so brightly in the snow that kept falling that Schneider raised a hand to his eyes to shield them from the light. Then the apparition started fading away, slowly at first and then quite suddenly, leaving behind only the faintest ghost of golden hues.

He was alone in the snow, still half-laying on his back, snowflakes getting caught in his hair.

Schneider woke up with a start, heart pounding, an uncomfortable tightness in his pajama pants and a scream on his lips. It took him a few moments to get his bearings back, blood buzzing in his ears. His eyes finally got used to the darkness of the room and he blindly reached for his phone on the nightstand, almost throwing a bottle of water on the ground at the same time.

 _3:52 am_ was all he could see on the screen, the green light bleak and dim in his room. He feebly turned on the light on the nightstand, a bit reassured once he could recognize the furniture of the room – pants hazardously thrown on a chair, his luggage still wide open on the ground. His suitcase had spent the better part of the past two weeks in the closest, but he had needed a notebook and a pen the day before, and hadn’t taken the time to put the suitcase back where it belonged once he had gotten them out.

He reached for the bottle of water and chugged it down, not caring as water dripped down his chin. He barely felt better once he put it back on the nightstand, drying off the water with the back on his hand, a disgusted look on his face. At least his boner had softened – but his racing heartbeat hadn’t, and he was slightly unnerved at that particular reaction of his body to his dream.

(Did he really miss Paul that much? That was a question he had carefully refused to answer until then, even in the privacy of his own mind, but…)

(He couldn’t deny that all six of them living together again to record their new album was forcing him to confront some truths he had been rather intent to ignore until then.)

He shook his head, trying to steer his thoughts away from that particular topic. It had been a long time since he had last had that kind of creepy dream, nightmare, _whatever the hell it was supposed to be_. He focused on his breath, trying to get his heartbeat back under control for a few minutes before giving up. He looked at the empty bottle of water on his nightstand, hesitating for a few seconds before getting out of bed and aiming for the door, not bothering to put something over his shirt. The nights were cool in Spain in the middle of winter, but the house they were renting while recording their fourth album was warm enough – besides, he only meant to go get a bottle of water in the kitchen. It wasn’t as if he was going to linger around.

The corridor was empty and silent when he stepped in, and he waited for a few seconds, door closed behind him, light peering from underneath. Everyone else seemed to be sleeping, which was as well for him – he wasn’t in the mood for talking, too shaken up by his dream as he was. He passed the other bedrooms, noticing that Richard’s door was slightly ajar – peeking inside, he realized no one was in it, and he frowned for a few seconds before his thoughts turned to the _other_ guitarist.

Paul had been by his side last time he had had that kind of dream – but they had broken up afterwards, to his initiative, their relationship one of the numerous casualties of the recording of _Mutter_. They had been lucky, despite it – their friendship hadn’t suffered too much, only a few weeks of awkwardness and they had both agreed to put it behind them and focus on the future, not the past.

The fact that they had parted amicably changed nothing to the cold, harsh truth that, over the months, Schneider had started to regret it had ended. He used to think he had gotten over it, but it was clear he hadn’t, not really.

(His eyes had trailed down Paul’s body a bit too often recently for it to be perfectly normal, if he was being honest with himself.)

That longing was not something he could push aside any longer – and it might explain why the guitarist had popped up in his dream. Nightmare. Whatever.

It didn’t explain the dream in itself, though. What was up with his mind and creepy visions of nature? Though he supposed it was better this time – no stream of blood or anything like that, just the smothering anxiety that came from snow covering everything and…

Well, better not to dwell on it – unless he wanted the dream to replay in his mind for the following weeks once again. The creature’s golden orbs were still floating in front of his eyes if he thought a bit too long about it, and he didn’t want to spend the next hours turning again and again in his bed because he couldn’t focus on something else.

One of the steps of the staircase squeaked under his feet and he paused for a moment. No one had seemed to hear him, but that didn’t mean his bandmates were still sleeping. He half-turned on his feet, looking in the vague direction of Till’s bedroom – no door, as he had picked the mezzanine, much to everyone else’s delight, but that also meant he was likelier to hear if someone was walking around in the middle of the night.

( _Walking_. From one bedroom to another, and then…)

(Well, not that any of them was actually involved with someone else from the band – which was probably the first time it happened since they had started recording songs together, a decade ago, but…)

(The tension that was roaming around wasn’t only a remnant of everything that had gone down during the recording of _Mutter_ , that much could be said.)

Schneider shook his head, annoyed at himself for the direction his thoughts had taken. Either way, he wasn’t here to focus on his bandmates’ sex life (or lack of, thereof), and he wanted a new bottle of water. There was no sound to be heard nor a single light to be seen, and he went down the stairs more carefully, eager to reach the kitchen. He was, after all, still unable to shed the remnants of his nightmare, and would very much have preferred to wake up in a bed that wasn’t cold and empty.

All of a sudden, it was a lot easier to admit he would have preferred to wake up next to Paul.

He quietly padded across the hall and the living room, still unsettled, vaguely listening to the sounds of the house as the wood was creaking every now and then.

The lights over the sink were on and Schneider frowned a little at the sight, slowing down before stopping at the entrance of the kitchen. Much to his dismay, he wasn’t the only one who had wanted to get some water – or a midnight snack, apparently.

Something hot twisted in his gut when he realized who it was.

Paul was lounging against the bar, back facing the living room, eyes seemingly stuck staring at the stars that could be seen by the window. It was one of the numerous advantages of their current recording studio – situated in the middle of nature, with a forest nearby and an easy access to the sea. It was far enough from the nearest town for them not to be bothered by tourists, and yet they could still go there on a whim if they needed to. They had all taken advantage of the solitary side of their house – Schneider was well aware both Till and Ollie had gone for a swim most mornings, but even the city boys that Paul and Richard were had taken to walk around in the nearest forest.

The tiles of the kitchen floor were cold under his bare feet and he hissed at the contact, making Paul jump in surprise at the noise. The guitarist turned on his heels, a half-surprised look on his face before he softened, lips stretching in amusement, something twinkling in his eyes.

His hair was mussed in a way that showed he had turned and turned again his bed before giving up and getting out, a sight Schneider was more familiar with than he wanted to admit in the middle of the night.

“You would have been more discreet with socks on,” Paul pointed out quietly, leaning against the bar as Schneider made his way to the fridge.

He was careful to keep a frown on his face, trying to disguise the way his heart was jumping at Paul’s disheveled state – and the way he could see a collarbone peeking out of the hem of his shirt, suddenly reminding of the beginning of his dream.

“I didn’t expect _that_ ,” and he gestured at the ground, “to be so cold,” he said in a huff, opening the fridge and scanning it with eager eyes before spotting a bottle of water.

The last one, but they were on groceries duties the morning after – or, more likely, later in the morning – so he took it without any regrets.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he enquired in a light voice once he had closed the door of the fridge, the coldness brutally reminding him of his nightmare.

The frown was still present on his face as he turned to face Paul, the bar standing between them, a half-full glass of water in front of the guitarist – who definitely seemed more interested in watching his every move. Feeling a bit gauche, Schneider put the bottle of water on top of the counter before leaning against it, arms loosely crossed in front of him, his shirt stretching over his biceps.

There was a thoughtful expression on Paul’s face as their eyes met – and he would have sworn they were burning with something other than focus.

“Woke up and couldn’t fall back to sleep,” the guitarist said quietly, shrugging a little. “I think Reesh went out for a midnight walk as well.”

“I hope he took a flashlight,” Schneider mumbled, eyes drifting to the window and the stars he could see through it. “It’s not a good time for him to break a leg – or something else.”

They both snorted but the sound seemed hollow to Schneider’s ears – and he wasn’t the only one, given the look on Paul’s face.

It was one thing to poke fun at Richard’s obliviousness towards his own romantic feelings in daylight, but under the stars, it was a whole different matter – one that neither of them wanted to dwell on.

Not when their own shared history was standing between them.

He regretted the break-up – and regretted that he didn’t dare to ask Paul to give them another chance, as well.

“What are you doing down there?” the guitarist finally asked after a few moments, once silence had stretched for slightly too long.

So much for things to have gone back to _normal_ between them – he could have cut the tension hovering in the room with a knife, if he had been so inclined.

Schneider looked at him, absentmindedly tracing the shape of his lips with his eyes, thoughts going back to his nightmare before he focused on the question. He shook his head slightly, aware that something had flashed on Paul’s face while he had remained silent, but didn’t try to analyze it.

There were still remnants of sleep in his mind after all.

(And he certainly was _not_ going to get his hopes up. No. Not at all.)

“I had a bad dream,” he finally said slowly, his eyes meeting Paul’s again before he looked away.

The guitarist nodded, a look of understanding on his face.

“Wanna talk about it?” he suggested, and Schneider shook his head.

“Not really,” he said truthfully, a bit surprised at his own reluctance.

He suspected he would actually have to talk about it with someone at one point, if only to understand what the hell these dreams meant, but in a kitchen in Spain in the middle of the night was not the place for it.

(Especially not when he was half-tempted to ravish Paul over the bar – oh, he had to face the music now, that dream _really_ had awoken things in him he thought to have been long buried.)

Paul nodded quietly at his words, a thoughtful expression still present on his face, but he didn’t push. In other circumstances, it might have called for a not-so teasing remark, but there was something different to Paul in the middle of the night – something quieter and softer, somehow.

The claws weren’t out.

(Even though there was a _look_ in his eyes that Schneider refused to analyze, no matter how familiar it was.)

They remained silent for a moment, Paul playing with the top of his glass, careful not to make any noise that would awaken the rest of the house. Schneider stared at him for a moment, thoughts battling in his head, before he opened his mouth, moved by an impulse:

“Paul?”

“Mmh?”

The guitarist raised his head to look at him, an interrogative expression on his face.

“Do you remember…” Schneider hesitated for a brief moment before going ahead – time to show some bravery, for once. “Do you remember, when we were touring for _Sehnsucht_?”

Paul stared at him for a moment, a mix of surprise and incomprehension on his face.

“Yeah? What, exactly?” he said slowly. “You’re gonna have to be a little more precise than that, Doom.”

Schneider stared at him, one eyebrow rising in an expressive manner, until understanding dawned on Paul’s face.

“Oh, _that_. When we christened the tourbus. Repeatedly.”

Schneider felt his cheeks blush at the undertone of mockery in the guitarist’s voice, but he nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat at hearing his old nickname.

“Do you…”

He hesitated, a bit reluctant to bring up his old nightmare – and the new one – but Paul understood his silence differently and softened, eyes crinkling while he gave his body a slow once-over.

“Oh, Doom, is your bed too big and too cold tonight?” he asked teasingly, voice lower than it ought to be.

Schneider felt his cheeks turn crimson – this was ridiculous, honestly, but…

“Yes,” he said simply, and Paul nodded, lips stretching in a smile again, twinkles dancing in his eyes.

Desire burned through his veins and Schneider looked away, feeling like a blushing school girl – this was _ridiculous_ , he was a grown man damnit, with plenty of experience under his belt (enough to turn Paul – or anyone else in the band, for the record – in a blushing, begging mess), but somehow, in that kitchen in the middle of winter, he didn’t have the upper hand. For once.

“A thing like that,” Paul muttered before taking hold of his glass and slowly drinking from it, eyes fixed on Schneider.

Who watched with fascination as a few drops of water ran free from Paul’s lips, following their course with avid eyes until they disappeared behind his shirt.

He raised his eyes to Paul’s again and was slightly taken aback by the hunger he could read there.

“You room or mine?” Paul enquired matter-of-factly, once his glass was empty, an amused smile still tugging at the corner of his lips.

Well, at least they were on the same wavelength – and he hadn’t mistaken the look in Paul’s eyes, in the end.

Schneider remained silent for a few seconds, getting uncomfortably restrained in his pants, eyes fixed once more on Paul’s collarbone that he could see peeking from under his shirt. The guitarist chuckled before quickly stepping towards him until he was standing right in front of Schneider, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Schneider?”

“Mmh?”

Paul chuckled at the dazed look in the drummer’s eyes before moving to kiss him, smile growing as two hands immediately moved to grab him by the hips and bring him closer. He put one hand on the counter to keep his equilibrium, the other moving to take of Schneider’s hair, tugging slightly to set the pace of the kiss.

It was slow and languorous, as it ought to be between two old lovers coming back to each other, and Schneider finally relaxed in the embrace, feeling the last remnants of his nightmare suddenly disappearing.

“My room,” he finally said once they separated, both panting for breath.

“What?” Paul said in a whisper, lips red and swollen already.

“Let’s go to my room,” Schneider said impatiently before tugging at his waist.

Paul bit back a laugh.

“Eager, are you, Doom?” he asked with amusement before putting one hand on the drummer’s arm to still him.

Schneider shrugged but let himself be restrained.

“Are you going to blame me?” he asked in a low, hoarse voice, still holding tightly on Paul’s waist.

The guitarist smiled maliciously before patting his butt.

“No… but you’re going to invite Flake to a restaurant next week, you know.”

Schneider stared at him for a few seconds before rising an eyebrow, unamused.

“Are you guys betting on your bandmates’ sex life again?” he asked flatly.

He had seen them do that since Feeling B and had thought they had calmed down in the past few years – but he had obviously been mistaken.

Paul snorted, clearly reading his thoughts on his face.

“Yeah. Apparently, and he thought it was a very important information to share, he caught you staring at my ass three times on the day of our arrival here.”

Schneider winced.

“ _Touché_ ,” he mumbled, lowering his eyes briefly before raising them again.

He moved one of his hands to cup Paul’s cheek, gently stroking the skin. The amusement in Paul’s eyes turned softer and he pushed into the touch, letting himself be petted without commenting on it.

“You haven’t been very discreet,” he finally said after a moment of silence, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I suppose not,” Schneider admitted quietly with a hint of bashfulness, cheeks warming.

Paul’s eyes crinkled when he moved to kiss him, just a chaste touch of the lips before speaking again.

“Well, you know how to make a guy feel wanted, Schneider,” he said in a low voice, amusement still dancing in his eyes.

Schneider shrugged, feeling himself more in control than when he had first entered the kitchen.

“Don’t tell me this is a problem.”

Paul chuckled and moved to kiss him again before grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him away. Schneider barely had the time to take his bottle of water and turn off the lights before they stepped into the living room, almost walking into Paul’s back in the darkness. They both laughed at the near collision and made their way back upstairs, careful not to trip nor wake anyone else – just because the house was silent didn’t mean no one else was awake, they had been on enough recording sessions to be aware of that fact – until they reached Schneider’s room.

The door was barely closed behind them that Paul launched himself against the drummer, kissing him passionately, the bottle water dropping with a _thump_ at their feet – but none of them cared about it, too busy passionately making out. The wooden panel of the door was cold in Schneider’s back, but he ignored the small discomfort, holding onto Paul and losing his breath in the moment. Oh, he had missed _that_ – feeling the world disappear around them as they lost themselves in each other.

“Bed might be more comfortable,” he mumbled when they finally separated, both of them panting heavily.

There were two bright red spots on Paul’s cheeks, his hair was mussed and his eyes were almost glowing in the dim light of the room. Schneider didn’t know where to look, eyes darting from one point to another, hands hovering awkwardly before one settled on the guitarist’s waist and the other at the back of his head, grazing his hair lightly.

“Might be?” Paul repeated with a little laugh, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve known you more convincing, Schneider.”

“Get on the bed, then,” Schneider said a little more forcefully, amusement present in his voice.

Paul chuckled before obeying with a mocking salute – and half-tripped into an abandoned shoe before gracefully falling onto the bed. The bedframe creaked loudly and they both stilled for a moment, Schneider turning his head to the corridor and waiting a few seconds before shrugging a little.

“All clear?” Paul asked quietly as Schneider slowly made his way to the bed, watching him close closer with a hungry look in his eyes, arms crossed behind his head.

“I suppose,” the drummer answered before joining him, quickly settling on the guitarist’ side, one hand grazing at his hair again. “And if someone’s awake, it’s not our problem – we’re all supposed to bring earplugs for a _reason_.”

Both laughed at his words, reminded of Ollie’s rant on the topic a long time ago – and ever since, they had all brought earplugs every time they went away together, and refrained from fucking in the tourbus. (Changing rooms in venues, though, were another topic altogether – but nobody was ever going to raise that issue.)

“That’s a problem for tomorrow morning,” Paul said with a little giggle and they both laughed before Schneider moved to kiss him again.

Paul completely relaxed against him and he felt a smile against his lips as a teasing hand moved over the hem of his pajama pants, intent obvious in the gesture. Schneider pressed the guitarist against the mattress a bit more forcefully, biting on Paul’s lip to hold the moan that was threatening to escape him as deft fingers started touching him.

He impatiently tugged at Paul’s shirt, the two of them stopping to kiss long enough for it to get thrown away on the floor, before grabbing the guitarist’s wrist and putting them over his head, on the pillow.

“Don’t move,” he ordered in a low voice, squeezing Paul’s wrists a little.

He didn’t miss Paul’s short intake of breath.

“Bossy, Schneider,” the guitarist mumbling before moaning against his lips as Schneider kissed him again.

He took his time trailing the fingers of his other hand across Paul’s torso, enjoying the goosebumps that rose in its wake. He was half-tempted not to let go of Paul’s hands – the position was a bit awkward, forcing him to lay on his side rather than hold himself up over the guitarist – but he quite enjoyed the feeling of dominance he got from there as well.

And so did Paul, if he had to judge by the obvious bulge in his pajamas pants.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” he finally said once they separated again, both gasping for breath.

Paul looked at him for a few seconds before remembering what he had just said. He wriggled a little on the bed, his thigh _accidentally_ brushing against Schneider’s crotch – and yes, they both definitely were on the same page as far as tonight was concerned.

“You know how much I love being at your complete and utter mercy, Schneider,” Paul said with a wriggle of the eyebrows, still panting, before biting his lower lip in a very obviously fake show of innocence.

Schneider felt all blood rush south – his asshole of a lover knew perfectly well how to rile him up, and had obviously zero claim doing it again.

Oh well, he wasn’t going to complain about it.

“Well, if that’s _how_ you’re going to behave…” he said in a drawl before putting his hand at the limit of Paul’s pajamas pants.

He smirked at the intake of breath that followed, and bend down to swallow the loud moan that escaped Paul as his hand finally moved under the thin layer of cloth. The skin was quite hot there, and he waited for a few seconds for his fingers to warm up fully before slowly, extremely slowly, going down inch by inch.

Paul gasped loudly when _finally_ Schneider took hold of him, smirking against his lips before languorously kissing him, setting a pace that was the same both up and down. It did require for him to focus a little on what he was doing rather than lose himself in the sensations, but the gratification was far more interesting – especially as Paul was wriggling underneath him, his gasps and moans steadily growing louder.

It was a slow and delicious torture he loved inflicting on the guitarist.

“ _Schneider_ ,” Paul finally panted between two kisses, shaking rather desperately against him. “Let met – oh! – let me touch you…”

Schneider tutted against his lips before setting an even slower pace.

“No,” he whispered in his ear, nicking at the sensitive skin. “That will come later.”

Paul whined, turning his head to hide against Schneider’s shoulder and he laughed a little before taking pity on the guitarist, quickening the rhythm once more.

Gone were the last remnants of his nightmare – his mind could only focus on the warm body against him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, please consider leaving a comment.


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